I don’t drink much, but I always carry a small flask in case of emergencies. I gave some to Judie first; she was still taut and almost colorless.
“What is it, please? I don’t usually drink.”
“Perhaps not, but you need it now, just a sip or two, it’s brandy.”
I gave Poole extra, he could barely bring the flask to his lips. I was worried about Hammond; his breathing seemed regular enough but very shallow. As I say, I was afraid to do too much in case I made things worse.
“Now tell us what bloody happened.” Trench had been waiting for some color to return to Poole’s cheeks.
“I don’t know a lot.” Poole seemed to have got a grip on himself at last. “I was standing over there, facing the sofa, and going through some of my notes when suddenly there was this awful smell. I looked up and, as I did so, the entire room was suddenly filled with a thick gray mist, really thick. I couldn’t see my own hands or the outline of the window: it was near enough darkness to be absolute. I sensed movement like someone moving around. Then there was this funny sound that upset me more than anything, it was sort of half a sob and half a scream. I’m certain it was Hammond but, of course, I can’t prove it, I don’t know.”
Trench had turned an odd color himself and took a quick gulp from my flask. “Go on, go on, what then?”
“There’s not much more to tell, the mist just vanished as if it had never been, and everything was the same except for Hammond. His eyes were closed, his face was twitching, and he seemed to be having some sort of minor fit. I went forward to help him but before I could touch him he went limp. I tried to get hold of him but it was then I found the empty sleeve and, it was then, I admit, I went to pieces.”
Before anyone could comment, the bell rang and there was a heavy knock at the door.
“Ambulance here! Open the door please.”
Two paramedics came in with a folding stretcher and the taller of the two made a quick check. “Not too good, what’s the main problem?”
“He—he’s lost an arm,” said Trench
“Good God!’” They made a swift examination then the taller one looked up. “What is this—some sort of sick joke?”
“We don’t understand.”
“Then I’ll bloody spell it out for you. It is true that this man has lost an arm but not today, not last year, but I’d say from around birth. This man looks to me like a very bad case of Thalidomide brought about by his mother taking the drug when she was pregnant. There is no sign of wounds or surgery here—look for yourself.”
“But he had an arm when we came,” said Poole in a thin high voice. “It’s true, I swear it.”
“There’s his wrist watch there within a few centimetres of your hand.”
“That’s his car in the drive,” said Poole, “he drove us here. Check it out, look at his driving license.”
Neither of the paramedics would actually look at us, but the smaller one said: “That’s as maybe, not our problem. The local authorities, the police and so on, can sort that out later. In the meantime it’s lucky you sent for us, he’s in a bad way, vital signs are deteriorating fast.”
“You mean he’s dying?” Trench’s face seemed to twitch.
“I cannot pass an opinion on that, sir, but he’s none too good. We’ll have to get him onto intensive care fast.”
We watched them carry him, numbly. All of us found it hard to take in.
“There will be an inquiry,’ said Trench. “No doubt about that.”
“With all due respect,” said Poole, “if he dies, there’ll be an inquest. Dear God, what will we say, what answers can we ever give? If we say he lost an arm, they’ll not only ask where it is but who or what took it.”
“We’d better sit down and work it out,” said Trench, “agree on one story and stick to it.”
“Agreed, but not here, for God’s sake,” said Poole. “In a nice normal hotel where I’d feel safe. Incidentally, I’m finished with this lark for good; you won’t find me investigating anything out of the normal, ever.”
“You’d better ring for a taxi,” I said. “Hammond had his car keys in his pocket.”
I went over to Judie. “I don’t think a small cramped flat is your scene at the moment, girl. I’ll book a single room for you at the hotel; you’ll feel safer there and you’ll have company.”
We decided to stay a week, then go to our homes, but we broke up before that. The police arrived to inform us that Hammond had only survived for eighteen hours; actual cause of death had yet to be determined.
They asked questions but, in complete honesty, we had little to tell them. Trench and I had been upstairs and Judie had been in the kitchen washing cups. Only Poole had been in a position to see anything, and he had enough sense to play it down. “I was looking out of the window and I heard this noise behind me—”
“This talk about the arm, sir?”
“We were all very upset at the time.”
“Yet according to paramedic George Miles, you said—”
“As I say, we were all very upset at the time.”
“No doubt, sir, but it seems to me—”
“Are we under suspicion, Inspector, are you accusing us of something?”
“Certainly not, sir, but there are still questions to be answered. We still have the body of Mr. Hammond and he is, sir, whatever your emotional state—minus his left arm.”
An inquest was opened and adjourned almost immediately for further enquiries. A period of six weeks was requested so, for a brief period, we were off the hook. Speaking for myself, I kept thinking of Judie and Hammond. He and I had become friends, and as for Judie—well, she had never shown any kind of response.
I went home, I wanted to get away from this feeling, this dark unknown and the accompanying depression.
It was not easy. I tried all the things that usually worked, without avail. I swam, I surfed a lot, I talked to different people whenever possible, and I rowed the dinghy. I had always found rowing relaxing before, but it seemed to have lost its effect now.
I was rowing back from the edge of the bay when I saw the swimmer and he seemed to be making heavy going of it. He had a strong powerful stroke but I could see he was tiring.
I rowed in close to him. “Are you O.K?”
“Fine thanks. I’m tired but, once past the jetty, I’ll make the beach easily.”
“Are you the swimmer I saw way out about forty minutes ago?”
“Could have been, I’ve just circled the old lighthouse.”
“Hell—that is some swim.” I paused, resting on my oars. “Look, tell me to mind my own business if you like, but I’m local. Before you get to the jetty there’s a natural sandbank stretching out from the shore for about a kilometre. It’s not visible at low tide, but on the high, as now, it creates the hell of an undertow. It’s not the sort of hazard you want to play around with when you’re tired.”
“Well, thanks, boatman, I really appreciate that. What do you suggest?”
“Well, I suggest you take a grip astern and I’ll tow you over the danger area.”